


On Butterfly Wings I'll Fly

by qianflower



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Adoption, Anger, Angst, Arguing, Author put her characters through it!, Butterflies, Car Accident, Child Death, Child Loss, Childhood Sweethearts, Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups is Whipped, Death, Depression, Forgiveness, Grief/Mourning, He's a great husband, Healing, Homophobia, Inconsistent pov, Insecurity, Jeonghan is kind of a jerk for the first part of this fic, Joshua is a great friend, Kid Lee Chan | Dino, Life is very very unfair in this fic, Long-Term Relationship(s), Lots of Angst, Love at First Sight, M/M, Married Couple, Married Life, Maybe - Freeform, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of alcohol, Mentions of homophobia, Pain, Parents Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Yoon Jeonghan, Resentment, Same-Sex Marriage, Seungcheol's parents suck!, Suffering, Therapy, Told mainly through Jeonghan's POV, brief mention of suicide but not explicit!, i guess, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:48:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29101284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qianflower/pseuds/qianflower
Summary: Minki says he will get there in time. Always in time. Jeonghan is beginning to hate the concept of time. He tries to not think about how he’s known Chan dead longer than he has alive—it’s already been three months since he flew away on butterfly wings.Or wherein Choi Seungcheol and Yoon Jeonghan lose their adopted son in a tragic accident.
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Yoon Jeonghan
Comments: 16
Kudos: 30





	On Butterfly Wings I'll Fly

**Author's Note:**

> I'm beyond happy to publish this fic! It reached 15K words which is crazy to me because this is just a one-shot lmao. It's angsty as per usual coming from me but hopefully it's good. I'm kind of insecure about this one but I've had the idea in my docs since Dec. 2019. I recently decided to finish it up and it has taken me about two months ah! I tried really hard in character building and working on creating imperfect characters. Anyways, this is a rollercoaster of hurt. Buckle up~
> 
> Also, I know that technically gay couples cannot legally adopt in Korea but we're going to ignore that for the sake of this story.

Yoon Jeonghan has never much cared for doing laundry. He definitely would choose the task over dishes any day, but that did not make the act any more bearable. It was just so much work in bringing in the dirty clothes, putting them in the washer, moving them to the dryer, folding them, and then putting the clean garments in their respective places. And he did not just have to wash clothes—there was linens and towels and even Seungcheol’s old shoes! Yet, Jeonghan was in charge of doing the laundry. He did not mind that, really, considering the one time that his husband did attempt to work the washer he overfilled it to find soap spilling down the appliance. No, it was clear that Jeonghan should take care of that duty.

But doing laundry meant that he was eventually going to come across an item from Chan. That’s how Jeonghan found himself sobbing into a light-yellow baby blanket on a Wednesday afternoon. Jeonghan remembers taking the beloved blanket from the five-year-old last week after the boy had spilled his lunch down the side of it. _That’s why we leave our blankie in the living room while we eat, Channie._ Jeonghan had tenderly reminded Chan who had been in a disarray without his baby blanket—the first gift that Seungcheol and Jeonghan had given the boy when he first was adopted.

Jeonghan runs his fingers down the yellow material that had only been in use for two months but already filled with wear-and-tear. Chan had been a spunky little firecracker who won over the hearts of Seungcheol and Jeonghan the moment they had met him. His energy was oftentimes hard for Jeonghan to match but it never got old chasing the tiny bean around the house or building pillow forts during rainstorms or making chocolate-chip cookies to surprise Seungcheol when he got home or—

If Jeonghan does not stop, he will spiral. He is not at the point where he can think about Chan—his beautiful little baby—without crying his eyes out and cursing the world. It has only been less than a week and it is clear that Jeonghan is not coping. He tried—he really did—but the wound was still fresh. It was nowhere near healing, hell, it had not even stopped bleeding. How do you move on from the light of your life being ripped away from you? Jeonghan had yet to find the answer but he supposes he isn’t looking either. Healing is a slow process—that’s what the hospital therapist had told them. _You have to let yourself grieve, otherwise, you’ll never be okay._ Jeonghan shakes his head at the memory as he gently drops the yellow blanket into the washing machine. He will never be okay regardless if he grieves or not. What the hell has grieving even done for him? The funeral was only two days ago and that had been an absolute tragedy. Being surrounding by a multitude of people as they cried for the young boy who lay lifeless in the smallest coffin that Jeonghan had ever seen? Hearing eulogy after eulogy for his _dead_ son? God, being approached by people he has never even met telling him he’s in their thoughts and prayers? How had that helped? How had any of that helped Jeonghan with the hole in his heart. It _hadn’t_. Grieving has done nothing good from him. He still feels like the day that ruined his life—like he is stuck in a time loop where the doctor comes out of the operating room to tell a hyperventilating Jeonghan that his five-year-old son didn’t make it over and over again. The five-year-old son that he had had for a measly two _months_.

Jeonghan slams the washer closed. He can’t deal with that right now. He can’t deal with any of this right now.

—

Ever since that fateful day where everything changed, Jeonghan has not had a civil conversation with his husband, Choi Seungcheol. It doesn’t even make sense to him. Jeonghan doesn’t understand why his mouth betrays him every time he goes to talk to Seungcheol. Jeonghan can’t even face the harsh words he’s thrown towards Seungcheol. He knows he’s crossed a line somewhere—that he’s speaking as if Seungcheol is to blame for Chan’s death.

But, god, it is so hard to look Seungcheol in the eyes—the eyes that Jeonghan has found comfort in since he was thirteen-years-old—and not relive _that_ scene. The sound of tires squealing, the heart-dropping thud of Chan being hit, and the sight of blood pouring out of Chan’s head faster than Jeonghan even thought possible. No, Jeonghan can’t look at Seungcheol. He isn’t ready.

Seungcheol had holed himself up in his home office and Jeonghan had let him. Being in their home felt so empty without the melodic giggles and constant reruns of children’s shows blaring from the TV. Where there was once sunshine is only darkness now. The light in their home had burned out the moment that Chan slipped from this world to wherever he is now.

Jeonghan didn’t like to think about death. It scared him to his core, to be honest. Jeonghan had not even experienced death until his uncle passed away when he was fifteen. Even then, Jeonghan refused to think about death, the afterlife, reincarnation, or heaven. Jeonghan did not know what came after someone died and he did not want to hypothesize either. It made him feel weird on the inside and his head always hurt afterwards.

But that’s all that Jeonghan can think about now that Chan is gone. Long gone. The worst part for Jeonghan is that he never got to say goodbye. He’s watched plenty of dramas where the family gets a long, drawn out goodbye before the patient quickly and quietly never wakes up again. Yeah, the family members still cry and sob for their loved one to come back but there’s a sense of finality along with it. They got to say their piece and they know for certain that that someone special to them _knew_ how much they were loved.

Jeonghan didn’t get that. They were told that Chan had likely already been brain dead when the car made contact. The ride to the hospital in the ambulance where Seungcheol and Jeonghan had held Chan’s limp, bloody hand and whispered assurances and I-love-you’s were for not. Chan didn’t hear at thing. Jeonghan now has to live with the knowledge that Chan may not have known how much Jeonghan loved him—how grateful he was for Chan coming into his life. It sucks. And burns. And ravages Jeonghan’s mind until he has nothing left.

As Jeonghan stares up at the dark sky, and wishes he could see the twinkling stars, he hopes that all the tales and sayings are true. He prays with all his might that Chan is somewhere safe, comfortable, that someone—maybe an angel—is holding him close and tucking him into bed because Chan can’t go to sleep unless he’s tucked in super tight. Maybe Chan’s frolicking through a plush field filled with flowers and someone has made sure he’s never hungry! Chan had been so little when he came to live with Seungcheol and Jeonghan…it had taken weeks to get his weight to the normal standard. He should be eating like a king with all his favorites. He loves kimchi and fried eggs and hotteok and patbingsu!—Chan had almost devoured an entire serving of the sweet treat the first time he tried it. He should have friends and laugh and play and be a kid. Jeonghan had wished to give Chan a good life but it seems that opportunity is gone now. Maybe he’s been reborn into a loving home that will provide what Seungcheol and Jeonghan failed to do. Perhaps, Chan is looking down on his parents trying to tell them that he is alright.

Jeonghan doesn’t know. _Goddammit_ , he simply does not know, and it tears him apart inside.

The wind begins to pick up them and Jeonghan decides that he should go back to his bedroom—the bedroom that he’s supposed to share with his husband. The bedroom that has been so cold and dark and _unbearable_. Sometimes, Jeonghan thinks that maybe if he were grieving with Seungcheol he would feel a whole lot better. But Seungcheol can’t face Jeonghan either. They played the part for the funeral and their parents and friends, but once they enter that front door, they go their separate ways. There are no kisses, hugs, or comfort. Just avoidance and cold shoulders.

Jeonghan wants to tell Seungcheol that he doesn’t hate him—he never could, not even in their current situation. He wants to tell Seungcheol that he doesn’t blame him. He desperately wants to tell Seungcheol that he’s sorry and that he misses him. God, does Jeonghan miss his wonderful husband.

They have been together since they were dumb teenagers in high school. They made it through all four years of college when Jeonghan was studying to be a teacher and Seungcheol was majoring in business. The couple got married after graduation—the wedding being abroad of course—bought a house and settled down as both created a career for themselves. Seungcheol had been working at his job at a large corporation for six months when Jeonghan told him about his desire to be a parent.

Jeonghan had always loved children and working with them had curbed some of his longing but being a parent was something he couldn’t shake from his mind. He wanted a child to call his own—one to love and nurture and watch grow. But Jeonghan was gay and happily married (although it wasn’t recognized by his country) to the man of his dreams. He had thought he could convince himself that never having children was his fate but Jeonghan couldn’t. The thought began to consume his every being. Jeonghan was beginning to harbor resentment for anyone and everyone who had children. Jeonghan remembers his younger sister asking to catch up one day. The siblings had had lunch at a cozy restaurant where his sister promptly shared that she was pregnant with Jeonghan’s first nephew. Jeonghan had been surprised at first and quickly congratulated his dongsaeng. It was _great_ news! But deep down inside, Jeonghan was jealous. He was thinking about how it wasn’t fair and that he would be an amazing father and why can’t that be _his_ baby and that’s when Jeonghan knew that he had a problem. He felt guilty for days at thinking those thoughts—so much that he made himself physically sick.

Seungcheol had found him crouched over the toilet seat, sweat beading down his forehead, and had questioned what happened. Jeonghan had spilled on everything. He had expected for Seungcheol to shut him down and remind him that homosexuals can’t have kids. But Seungcheol had only sighed, cradling Jeonghan to his chest, and breathed relief, “ _I thought I was the only one_.”

From that moment on, Seungcheol and Jeonghan searched high and low for any and all possible options. The couple finally decided on adoption and the rest is history. Lee Chan had come from a terrible home where he was neglected and never properly taken care of by his biological parents. It had broken Seungcheol and Jeonghan’s heart to hear about his case from the social worker assigned to find them a match. They had wanted a young child but did not care for gender or circumstances. Chan seemed perfect for them. He was five-years-old and an absolute angel. Seungcheol and Jeonghan immediately fell in love the moment they saw the boy’s photo. It took months but, eventually, Chan was _theirs_. The first day that Seungcheol and Jeonghan brought Chan home had felt like a dream. Jeonghan was finally a father and he promised that little boy that he would love him forever and ever.

It’s kind of funny how fast forever can stop in an instant.

Jeonghan locks the backdoor as he slips inside and walks down the hallway. The lights are off in Seungcheol’s office, from what he can tell from the crack at the bottom of the door. _Cheollie must be asleep then…_ Jeonghan almost knocks on the lonely panel but digresses. _Seungcheol probably doesn’t want to talk to you_. Jeonghan skips over the adjacent door—eyes trained on what’s ahead. He surely wouldn’t be able to handle if he caught a glimpse of the chalkboard sign hanging haphazardly with messy kindergartener handwriting spelling out “ _Chan_ ” in blue chalk. All three of them had decorated Chan’s door with red and blue stars and smiley faces and Chan’s favorite cartoon character, _Pororo._ It had been a fun activity to bond together over and Jeonghan holds the memory close to his heart.

But he isn’t ready to see it just yet. He isn’t ready to see Chan’s room either. The door stays closed at all times and Jeonghan has yet to open it. He knows that Seungcheol has, late at night when he thinks that Jeonghan is asleep and won’t hear his sobs. But Jeonghan doesn’t sleep anymore. He can’t. Reels and reels of memories of Chan play through his mind—the bad and the ugly and the happy and the fun. Everything. Jeonghan can’t get his brain to shut off enough for him to fall asleep. So, he doesn’t.

Jeonghan makes it back to his bedroom. It’s just another night of the same old routine he’s had for the past few days. Jeonghan tries to ignore how it will be a week since Chan died the day after tomorrow. He crawls into his too-big bed, fingers grazing over the left side that used to be Seungcheol’s, and lies down under the dark blue comforter. It does little to comfort him. Jeonghan stares off into nothing as the tears trickle down his face onto his pillow.

He’s consumed by missing Chan, missing Seungcheol, and missing his life. He wants his perfect peace back. Why was it stolen from him? What did he do to deserve this?

Jeonghan thinks all night, but never comes up with an answer.

—

Jeonghan and Seungcheol finally run into each other on the night of the one-week anniversary. Seungcheol looks worse for wear. He’s definitely lost some weight since Jeonghan last saw him and it’s noticeable with his sunken cheeks. The dark circles under his eyes are darker than when Seungcheol was in college and stayed up for twenty-six hours to finish a final project. Seungcheol is great at managing stress but it looks as if the emotion had swallowed him whole. The man before him does not look like his husband and Jeonghan doesn’t know what to do anymore.

He supposes he doesn’t look any better but just being confronted with his husband is enough to make those awful talons of anger claw up his chest. Jeonghan couldn’t stop himself even if he tried—and he did. But he can’t stop those feelings that he has pushed off sorting through from spilling out of his mouth into a heap of lies.

 _I miss you_. “I think I’m going to stay with Joshua for a few days.” Jeonghan internally sighs because since when had he decided that? He grips his metal chopsticks in his hands tighter, frustrated with himself once again. He doesn’t even want the damn ramyeon anymore. He did not want it to begin with but Jeonghan knows he will be of no good if he lets himself die too. That won’t solve anything—just cause more pain and suffering. Still, he shuts off the heat.

Seungcheol drops the spoon he had been stirring his tea with, the utensil clanking against the ceramic. The kitchen suddenly feels way too small and suffocating. Jeonghan is glad he has his back to Seungcheol otherwise he doesn’t know what he would be doing. He doesn’t want to blow up on Seungcheol and say more things that he surely doesn’t mean. He doesn’t want to burst into tears before his husband either. God, Jeonghan doesn’t know what he wants. But facing Seungcheol is something he knows for certain would bring nothing but pain.

“Why? I’ve been giving you space?” Seungcheol mutters out, and there’s an edge to his voice that Jeonghan doesn’t feel comfortable with. He knows he deserves to be yelled at—Lord knows that Jeonghan had given Seungcheol an unnecessary earful already after they came home from the hospital without their son. Jeonghan had said so many hurtful things to Seungcheol that night purely out of despair and grief. But it was still unwarranted. Jeonghan knows this and when the time is right, he’ll beg for forgiveness for the rest of his life. That time isn’t now. Jeonghan isn’t ready.

“I just need to get away from here. It isn’t doing me any good. I feel like I’m suffocating.” Jeonghan tries to explain. It’s true but Jeonghan had not planned to stay with Joshua previously. It was a stupid thing he had said to fill the silence—maybe give meaning to start a conversation. But it’s a conversation that Jeonghan does not want to have.

“Han, I think we need to talk—” Seungcheol attempts but Jeonghan feels his walls start to crumble. He has tried _so_ hard to keep everyone out—even his own mother—and he will not fall now. “Save it. I don’t want to hear it.” Jeonghan forces out and he _loathes_ how hateful it sounds to his own ears. _Imagine Cheollie’s._ The voice in his head reminds. Yeah, he’s a horrible person. We get it.

“I know it might be hard, but you can’t shut me out anymore. I can’t handle it any longer. I’ve already overstayed my bereavement. My boss is threatening to fire me if I don’t go back to work soon. I—I can’t even imagine doing that if we haven’t talked about this. I don’t want to lose you too, _please_.” And that’s when Jeonghan remembers they have lives and work and responsibilities. Jeonghan had been granted an early winter break from his job at a preschool to help settle Chan into their home. He was due to return to work when the school reopened—which just so happened to be the Monday after Chan had died. Jeonghan had yet to answer any of the text messages or phone calls he had received from his boss. It was unprofessional, yes, but Jeonghan was not convinced he could keep it together long enough to think of anything other than his son.

Seungcheol had a stricter boss and Jeonghan wasn’t surprised (now that he thought about it) that his boss was being cold about Seungcheol not returning to work yet.

 _I’m sorry._ “Our son just died and you’re only thinking about returning to work?” Jeonghan slams his chopsticks down and whirls around to look at Seungcheol. The other male’s face contorts in pain at the accusation and Jeonghan wishes he never stepped foot out of his bedroom to begin with. Then, he wouldn’t be insulting the man he loves—he wouldn’t be saying things he can’t take back. Jeonghan doesn’t want to lose Seungcheol either. He desperately doesn’t want that but—

“What? _No_ , Hannie, I just—”

“I don’t want to do this with you right now.” Jeonghan sighs, stalking off to his bedroom to pack a bag. He isn’t even looking at what he is throwing in it. He just grabs a handful of clothes and shoves into the tan duffel bag he found in the closet.

“No, we're doing this. You can't keep ignoring me. I'm hurting too.” Seungcheol demands as he enters _their_ room that he hasn’t stepped foot in for days. He almost feels like he’s unworthy to cross the threshold. But he gets over that because he _needs_ Jeonghan to understand. He needs his husband back.

“Look at me _!_ ” Seungcheol grasps Jeonghan's hand to get the latter to do as requested. That's all he wants. He's been avoided and shunned and it hurts coming from the man he has loved since they were in middle school. If Jeonghan would just look at him and listen to him and _forgive_ him. Seungcheol needs forgiveness. It’s been driving him crazy since the night that Chan died—hell, since the moment that Seungcheol kicked the soccer ball too hard and it flew out into the street and Chan had bounded over to retrieve it. Their street was not even that busy normally. They lived in the suburbs in a quiet neighborhood that prided itself in community and kindness. Seungcheol had never expected to find himself living the almost white-picket fence life but it had been Jeonghan’s dream and Seungcheol was a sucker for Yoon Jeonghan. Yet, on that stupid day, that _fucking_ Friday afternoon, that black Chevy Tahoe came speeding down the road and collided with his unsuspecting five-year-old son.

“Seungcheol—” And, fuck, that stung. In all the years that Jeonghan has known Seungcheol, he's only called him Cheol or Cheollie. Just like Jeonghan has always been Han or Hannie. Seungcheol doesn't even remember the last time he heard that name slip off Jeonghan's tongue. Maybe it was their wedding day but that was almost two years ago. All he knows is he doesn't like the way the foreign word is filled with venom and... _hatred._

“You're acting like I could have done something—like this is my fault!” Seungcheol throws his hands up in frustration. He's boiling with anger and confusion. This is _unfair_. 

“Dammit, Cheol, it is! It is your fault! You should have saved him! He shouldn't have died under your watch. _That_ is your _fault_ , and you know it.” Jeonghan yells back, stopping his actions of packing his bag and standing up to stare Seungcheol down. 

It is a kick to the chest, Seungcheol can't breathe. _He's lying._ He has to be. Jeonghan doesn't honestly blame him for the death of their child. _Right_? 

“It’s—it’s not my fault! Yes, I made a mistake, but it's not like I pushed him in front of the car myself. I did everything in my power to keep him alive. It was an accident, Jeonghan. I never meant for it to happen!" Seungcheol’s voice is filled with utter sadness and desperation and betrayal and Jeonghan regrets everything. He regrets it all.

 _I don’t blame you._ “You were supposed to p—protect him. He had his whole life ahead of him. We were going to give him the life that he never had," Seungcheol tries to comfort the other but is forcefully pushed back, “Don't touch me! Just don't. I can't be here anymore.”

With that, Jeonghan is slipping through the door, grabbing his half-packed luggage, and disappearing into the night. Seungcheol is left to stand there, everything around him turned to dust. 

_I love you._ But that vanishes too.

—

Joshua Hong had just settled down on his couch, armed with honey butter chips and rice puffs, ready to hit play on his TV to watch the latest episode of _Penthouse_ when he hears a knock on the door. Joshua almost whines as he sets his snack bowls onto the tiny coffee table in front of him and walks over to the front door to open it. It’s almost nine PM, _who the hell is bothering him_? Joshua does not live alone but his roommate, Hansol, is away on a trip to Jeju with his boyfriend. They had left three days ago and weren’t due back for at least a week.

Grumbling, Joshua answered the door to see his best friend since college, tears pouring down his face and weakly clutching a half-zipped bag. Without another thought, Joshua reaches for Jeonghan’s frail wrist—God had he deteriorated since the last time he had saw him—and pulls him into Joshua’s medium-sized apartment.

“What the hell happened, Han?” Joshua finally asks after hugging the other for a few minutes, softly petting Jeonghan’s head in an attempt to get the latter to calm down. It was clear this had something to do with Chan but that didn’t explain why Jeonghan was _here_. Shouldn’t he be with Seungcheol?

“I—I said bad, terrible things, Shua. He probably hates me—oh my God—he _hates_ me. What do I do? I don’t know how to fix this—” Jeonghan rambles until his breathing become erratic and Joshua is confused but on high-alert to get his best friend feeling better.

“Here, sit down, baby. Can you try breathing a little slower for me? I’m going to get you some water, just breathe in and out. Focus on that, okay?” It takes a second but Jeonghan finally complies and begins adapting to a more normal breathing pattern. Joshua returns and hands off the glass of water to his friend, who shakily clasps the cup with both hands and takes tentative sips to alleviate his parched throat.

“Can you tell me what happened now?” Joshua questions then after Jeonghan sets the water down onto the coffee table—right next to Joshua’s forgotten snacks. The TV still has the paused screen of _Penthouse_ pulled up, but Joshua has a feeling he will have to see to that another day. Jeonghan is _way_ more important than a drama. There have been plenty of times where Jeonghan was there to pick up Joshua’s broken pieces and it is time for him to return the favor. Joshua isn’t surprised that Jeonghan is still struggling. It has only been a week and Jeonghan lost a child. This is going to be something that they grapple with for the rest of their lives. It will never _not_ be gut-wrenchingly painful. It may get easier to live but it will always hurt.

He remembers receiving the dejected phone call from Jeonghan the morning after Chan had passed away. Jeonghan had been despondent, words slow and soft. Joshua did not witness Jeonghan break down until the funeral a couple of days later. Joshua, himself, had been unsure how to react to the news of the young boy’s death. It seemed unreal—still does—that the lively little boy who affectionately called him _Shu Shu_ was now six feet under the cold hard ground.

Joshua had visited several times to help Jeonghan with Chan as Seungcheol had to work during the day. His best friend had been so nervous to be a father but ended up doing the job perfectly. Joshua can remember watching movies, finger painting, and playing hide-and-seek with Chan. The couple had been the first out of their friend groups to become parents—everyone else choosing to focus on their careers and other aspirations. Joshua had not realized how excited he was for Jeonghan and Seungcheol’s next chapter until he met Chan for the first time and saw how natural Jeonghan was in filling in the father role. It was in that moment that Joshua saw Jeonghan as an adult—grown and mature. Gone were the days of partying until 3 AM and making stupid decisions for laughs. Jeonghan and Seungcheol had a tiny human being to care and be responsible for now. It was remarkable to see the transformation in his friends—his ‘soulmate’ as Jeonghan had jokingly referred to them as since they were made roommates freshman year in college.

But now, those dreams were crushed, ruined, and lost. His strong, seductive, stubborn best friend was nothing but a shell before him. It was heartbreaking—just as it was the fact that Chan was dead.

“I had a fight with Cheol.” Jeonghan murmurs after a beat, biting a hangnail on his thumb anxiously. Joshua raises a brow at that because Jeonghan and Seungcheol do not normally get into fights. In the whole span of their relationship that Joshua has known the two, he can count on one hand the massive arguments they have had. Seungcheol is a voice of reason and while Joshua admits his soulmate can be rather petty, Jeonghan is a mess without his lover.

One of their particular fights had occurred junior year of college and had lasted three painstaking days. Jeonghan had hid out in Joshua’s campus apartment for those three days, taking turns between cursing out Cheol’s name and scarfing down _Twinberry Cheesecake_ ice cream whilst sobbing. It had wrecked their entire friend group as some were forced to take sides with Seungcheol seeking refuge with Lee Jihoon. The entire situation had come to a head after Joshua and Jihoon agreed to make the two meet up and patch things again. It was crystal clear that the two students were suffering, and no one wanted to see the sweethearts make choices they would later regret. It would be a strange world without Choi Seungcheol and Yoon Jeonghan together. They had been friends since middle school, lovers since high school, and inseparable in college. Joshua would hate Jeonghan and Seungcheol to throw all that away over a fight that only happened because Seungcheol wanted to help Jeonghan with the laundry and ended up breaking their washing machine.

It had taken less than five minutes for the two to make up. It had been hilarious in retrospect but agonizing in the moment. The point of the matter is that Joshua can’t imagine why Jeonghan and Seungcheol are fighting. It comes as a shock and crumbles the façade that the couple is perfect.

“I-I know I’m in the wrong.” Jeonghan admits defeatedly, tears slowly rolling down his cheeks in solid streams, “I don’t know why my mouth is saying the things I don’t want to say. I didn’t mean those things, Shua, I _promise_!” Joshua comforts his friend, assuring him that he believes the blonde.

“Can you start from the beginning? What are you guys fighting about? That doesn’t sound like you.” Jeonghan emotionlessly laughs, _No, it’s not them._ But a week ago their lives changed for forever and Jeonghan has always hated change. And this is a big _fucking_ change. They lost their son—right before their eyes. The worst part is that Jeonghan knows he’s wrong. He understands better than anyone that he is making the healing process more difficult that it has to be. But irrational and Jeonghan have always been connected. Usually, Seungcheol can get Jeonghan to realize his behavior but he’s never directed it towards his husband before. This is the first time that the couple is _actually_ arguing and it’s pretty damn serious.

Jeonghan rubs his eyes in frustration, “We’ve been lying to everyone. . . we’re not doing okay. Our marriage is at risk at this point, and it’s all my fault.” The man can’t help but choke up at the thought, but it _is_ tantalizingly real. “The night we came back from the hospital after—after Channie. . . we had a huge argument. I told him it was all his fault. I yelled at him for not protecting our son. I might even have called him a terrible father—hell, I can’t remember all of what I said. It was horrible of me to do, but I was too caught up in my own selfishness to see that I was hurting Cheol until it was too late.” Jeonghan can’t even bring himself to face the look of disbelief and disappointment from his best friend. There’s even a twinge of anger somewhere and Jeonghan wishes someone would just slap him straight across the face as an atonement for his sins. Lord knows Jeonghan deserves it for what he’s accused Seungcheol of. He hasn’t even gotten to tonight’s fight. _Shit_.

“He locked himself in his office after that. I’ve been ignoring him. I haven’t reached out, tried to apologize, set things straight. I’m too cowardice. I left him to handle everything by himself. And—and I heard him. I heard him sneak into Channie’s room at two in the morning and try to hide the sounds of his cries. I should have _gone_ to him and _comforted_ him, but I just couldn’t. Because somewhere along the way, my stupid brain started blaming him for everything.

That—that moment plays out in my mind all the time. It was the first time in weeks that Seungcheol had a day off. Chan was ecstatic—he always idolized Cheollie. ‘ _I wanna play soccer with Daddy.’_ ” Jeonghan wipes the moisture clinging to his face, but it gets soaked once more. A watery smile filled with pain settles upon his features as he details that day. He can see Chan like he’s really right in front of him, cheeky grin on full display as he jumps up and down waiting for Seungcheol to whisk him off outside for a day of fun. Jeonghan wants to reach out and touch him, but the image disappears before he can do that.

“So, after lunch they went out front to play. I had been watching through the window. I wanted to give Cheol some time alone with Chan. He didn’t get to bond much because of work. He usually did bath and bedtime, but we decided to change that day so Cheol could play with Chan instead.”

The scene had been quite cathartic and beautiful. Chan—full of smiles as he clumsily kicked at the white-and-black ball—and Seungcheol interacting together. Jeonghan remembers laughing to himself as he realized that his husband had faked being a terrible goalkeeper, choosing to let Chan score a few times where he normally wouldn’t have. Seungcheol was super competitive but this was Chan they were talking about, and Cheollie was head-over-heels in love with his son. He would do the most embarrassing things to elicit a smile from Chan. It didn’t matter what he had to do to make his son happy—he would do it. He would walk through fire, battle with demons, and face his worst fears for Chan. That’s what being a parent did to his husband, and it made Jeonghan love the man even more.

“I had made lemonade for them. They had been playing for close to half-an-hour, all sweaty. I thought they deserved a treat. I kind of became a health freak after we adopted Chan. I just wanted him to be healthy, so he didn’t get many sugary drinks. It was a special occasion, though.” Here comes the hard part. The part that plays over and over and over and never lets Jeonghan rest.

“I had the drinks on a tray, so it took me a little longer to get outside than normal. I had just rounded the corner from the garage when I saw the car come flying down the street. That damn _Chevy Tahoe_. I screamed but it was too late. It—it had already slammed into my son— _our_ son. I dropped the tray, came running down the driveway. Seungcheol was closer, he got there first. Blood was all over his jeans and it was—it was _Chan’s_ blood. I couldn’t even hear anything but this god-awful buzz in my ear. I just wanted to hold my baby but no matter how many times I called his name, he never responded. He never opened his eyes. He never woke up.” Joshua holds Jeonghan tight as he sobs into his shoulder. Jeonghan’s never told the story to anyone. Seungcheol had informed the authorities and their family and friends. Jeonghan had phoned a few people but only ever said that Chan had passed away after being hit by a car. The details—he never spoke aloud. Saying them aloud made the situation real and Jeonghan wished this were just some stupid dream that he could wake up from. He’s pinched himself, though, and nothing changes.

“I—I hear the sound of the car hitting him over and over. The crack of his skull against the pavement—the squeal of the tires. It just runs through my head _all_ the time. I—I want it to stop _!_ It makes everything so much harder.”

“I’m so sorry, Hannie.” Joshua speaks through his own tears, “You should have never had to go through that.” Jeonghan agrees—he wishes he could have a do-over. He hopes and prays with all his might that he will wake up tomorrow and see his son _alive_ in his bedroom under that yellow baby blanket. Jeonghan would make pancakes or waffles or both. He would listen to the _Baby Shark_ song for hours on end. He would never let his son go. He would do anything to hug and kiss his baby one more time. It doesn’t feel fair, Jeonghan hasn’t been able to show Chan how much he loves him. He hasn’t been able to fulfil all his dreams. They never even got the chance to celebrate his birthday—they were just shy by a month. They didn’t get to send him to school dressed in the outfit that Seungcheol had grabbed on his way home from work one afternoon—rainbow sweater and yellow overalls. Seungcheol had thought it was cute and Jeonghan had itched to put Chan in it. Chan had never been to school before, another product of his former neglect. His first day of school was going to be perfect. Jeonghan had been dreaming of that day since December.

But it never came.

Jeonghan and Seungcheol didn’t get to witness any big accomplishments in their son’s life. They had two measly months, and it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. It was cruel and awful and Jeonghan _hated_ it.

“We were—we were _so_ happy to be parents, Shua.” Jeonghan’s voice breaks under the weight of the heavy emotion. He cries harder into the soft material of Joshua’s cardigan, unaware that he is leaving a wet spot in the garment. Joshua does not seem to mind though. He just cradles his best friend and lets him get it all out. Jeonghan has been bottling up these feelings for an entire week and he needs to let it out—go—before it’s too late. Jeonghan’s already said things he can’t take back but there is still a chance to mend his broken relationship with Seungcheol. It will take time and work, but it is possible. Joshua knows that— _Jeonghan_ knows that.

“I know, baby. I know.” Joshua murmurs into Jeonghan’s mop of disheveled blonde locks, “But that little boy loved you with everything he had. I saw it, we _all_ saw it. You gave him a life he never had, and as much as we would have all liked to have known him longer, I know his last moments were filled with happiness. I know without a shadow of a doubt that he loved his two dads, and he _knew_ he was loved.”

“You think so?” Jeonghan croaks, unsure and hesitant. Joshua just brushes a strand of unruly hair back behind Jeonghan’s ear. _He needs a haircut_ , Joshua thinks. Between getting Chan settled and figuring a routine of parenthood, Jeonghan had little time to take care of himself. That’s how Joshua knows that Jeonghan and Seungcheol gave Chan a better life—no matter how short it ended up being. Jeonghan had dedicated all of his time in being there for that little boy. Joshua hadn’t even heard from Jeonghan until a week after Chan had come to live with the couple. Chan was Jeonghan’s world. Joshua witnessed that firsthand when he was asked to help out, rushing at the chance to meet the tiny child.

Joshua recalls a specific moment after about two weeks of visiting where Chan had beckoned Joshua closer after Jeonghan had left the room to grab the boy a snack. With all the quietness a five-year-old could muster, Chan had whispered into Joshua’s ear, “ _Appa is the best! I like living here.”_ Joshua had chuckled and cooed at the sweet words, “ _Do you?_ ” Chan had shaken his head so hard and fast Joshua had thought the boy would have hurt himself.

“ _I can’t wait ‘til Daddy comes back. Then it’ll be perfect!”_

“I promise, Han.” Jeonghan nods at those words, finally deciding to concede on the issue. He’s thankful for his best friend for being there for him. He always knows what to say to make him feel better.

“But you know we’re not done, right?” Joshua questions as he pulls Jeonghan away to make eye contact. The man before him sighs, head hanging low in shame.

“I’m Seungcheol’s friend, too. He didn’t deserve to hear those words, least of all from you. Blaming him was wrong, Hannie. I understand that you’ve been through a lot, but that doesn’t give you an excuse. To be completely honest, you’ve been an _ass_ to Cheol. You’ll have to work hard to earn his trust back.”

“I know, I know, I’m ready.” It’s like a lightbulb goes off in Jeonghan’s mind because suddenly he is more aware, “Oh my god, I need to see him. Shua, I have to go.” Jeonghan rushes to his feet, a fresh round of tears accumulating in his dark eyes. He needs his husband like _right now_. He needs to beg for forgiveness until his knees bleed and his throat no longer supports words. He can’t lose his Cheollie. He can’t lose that man _too_. It would be unbearable.

“Hey, wait, Jeonghan—” Joshua reaches the said male as he’s clumsily trying to put his shoes back on. “You should wait until tomorrow morning. I don’t think you can mentally take another deep talk like that. It’s one AM anyways.” Jeonghan falls into a heap, exhaustion hitting his bones.

“What—what if I don’t get a tomorrow? What if he does something because of what I said? What if he hurts himself, Shua _?!_ I blamed him for our son’s death—multiple times. I left him. What if he—”

Joshua hugs Jeonghan once more, “Calm down, okay? We’ll call him right now. We’ll make sure he’s okay, alright? I’ll text Wonwoo to come over and stay the night with him. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” Jeonghan relaxes at that but still feels the anxiety running through his veins at the thought of something happening to his husband as well. He didn’t even think of the implications of his words until just now and it burns him inside. It suffocates him and tears him apart. It is imperative that he hears Seungcheol’s voice _now **.**_ He has to make sure that Cheol is fine and safe and _alive_.

Joshua must have left to retrieve his phone but Jeonghan doesn’t even comprehend his absence. All he knows is that Shua is back with the dial tone ringing as Seungcheol’s name appears on the device. _Answer, answer, answer please._

After a few rings, the line picks up and Seungcheol’s voice rasps out, “Hello?” Jeonghan immediately breathes a sigh of utter relief, clutching his chest.

Joshua takes initiative when Jeonghan’s own vocal cords fail him, “Hey, Cheol, it’s me. Jeonghan was worried about you. We called to make sure you were okay.” The other end of the call is silent for a moment before Seungcheol says something in return.

“That’s surprising to hear.” Seungcheol seems to try to keep the emotion from his voice but it’s loud and clear that he is suffering. He must have cried the entire time since Jeonghan left in a hurry. His voice is thick with tears, raspy and raw. It hurts Jeonghan to think about—knowing he’s the reason.

“I talked with Jeonghan. . . he knows he’s in the wrong. He’ll formerly apologize tomorrow when you guys have a long talk. There are things I’m sure you have to address. But Jeonghan was afraid that his words might have driven you over the edge.” And that must have rendered Seungcheol speechless because he doesn’t reply for a moment. Then suddenly there are sounds of tiny sobs wracking over the line—almost as if Seungcheol is trying to hide the cries.

And then, “Is—is it on speak-speaker?” Joshua affirms, glancing over at Jeonghan who has bitten his fingers to the nub, eyes welling with more tears.

“I would never—I would never do that to you, I promise. Baby, I promise, _please_ believe me. I’m willing to do anything to make this right. I don’t—I can’t live without you. Hannie-yah, can you hear me?” He sounds so broken and desperate and Jeonghan did that.

“Y-yes. I can hear.” He clutches the phone with an ironclad grip, knuckles turning white, trying not to bawl at how his husband sounds. “I love you, I love you so much, Seungcheol. Please don’t leave me. I was wrong.”

“I could never leave you, Jeonghan. Never. I love you too.” And that, that makes Jeonghan’s feel better. He still needs to hear it from Seungcheol in person, he needs to say his piece to his husband, but this will do for now. There is so much more they need to discuss, but Jeonghan is settled for the moment. Cheollie is fine and safe and, most importantly, _alive_.

“I’ll send him over sometime in the morning. I texted Wonwoo and he’s on his way over to you. I don’t think you should be alone right now, okay? Cheol?” The silence is concerning but then finally Seungcheol has composed himself enough to answer.

“Thank you, Joshua. For everything.” Joshua dismisses the thanks; it is what friends do. It’s what any decent human being does. And then quietly Seungcheol requests, “Make sure he sleeps, please. I know he hasn’t been lately. He needs a good rest.”

“I’ll try. Get some rest yourself. In the morning, you two can set things straight again. Good night, Cheol.”

There is a few more words exchanged before the call ends. Jeonghan is slumped on the floor, only one shoe on. He looks drained but the sadness does not cling to his bones like it did before, rushing out in waves of fear and depression. Jeonghan is still sad—that’s obvious—but not to the degree he was when he first materialized on the steps of Joshua’s apartment. He calls that a win, helping Jeonghan to his feet.

“Let’s get you to bed, baby.”

—

The next morning, when the raging storms have died down in Jeonghan’s heart and the dark sky has cleared to a calm, dull blue, the man finds himself back home—where he belongs. There is a chipped coffee mug in front of him, steam rising up in billows as it was freshly poured just seconds ago. Jeonghan stares at the drink—a pale brown color from where Seungcheol prepared it just how he knew his husband liked. And that, the caring gesture to remember Jeonghan’s impossible taste, sends an ache to Jeonghan’s heart. Three spoons of sugar, doused in French vanilla creamer, piping hot—it’s perfect and Jeonghan doesn’t even want to drink it. He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve the forgiveness from Seungcheol. He shouldn’t be being cared by the man—he deserves shouts and insults and _anger._ The problem is that Jeonghan knows that Seungcheol would never do that. Even in their petty old married couple fights, Seungcheol never once crossed that line. He hates yelling—he hates name-calling. Seungcheol had witnessed his own parents tear each other apart and vowed to never treat his own spouse that way. And God did he love Jeonghan with everything he had. From head to toe, inside and out. It didn’t matter to him that Jeonghan wasn’t perfect because Seungcheol didn’t want perfect.

He loved how Jeonghan would get overly competitive—finding some cheap way to exploit the system over a game of _Monopoly_ —with that smirk that sent electricity throughout Seungcheol _every_ single time. He thought that the way that Jeonghan would burrow himself in the corner of their plush couch, messy hair and bare-faced, watching _the Notebook_ at one in the morning was beautiful. And Jeonghan’s deep infectious laugh—that’s what dreams were made of. Seungcheol would pay every last cent he had to see Jeonghan’s honey brown eyes widened with happiness as the door opened to reveal the child they would later call their son. 

He smelled like sunshine and flowers and fluffy bunny rabbits. He was the joy of Seungcheol’s life since they were unruly, prepubescent boys who knew little about love but felt that connection regardless. Life without Jeonghan was dark and grey and gloomy and it hurt—it was _agonizing_. Seungcheol can barely remember what life without the smiley blonde male even looks like. Once Jeonghan graced you with his presence—you never forgot him. He cat-walked around the street with an aura of beauty and strength. It took a mighty good punch to take Jeonghan down—and Seungcheol had loved him since the moment they met even if it took him four years to realize that.

Jihoon, Seungcheol’s best friend since the eighth grade, has asked him multiple times if he believes in love at first sight. Seungcheol used to say _No, that’s ridiculous._ But now. . . it feels like maybe it was love upon the first meeting. It was like the universe had pulled them together that October day when Seungcheol had just transferred in. Swallowed by the school uniform and unsure how to navigate his new surroundings, he had run into _Yoon—_ class-president-take-charge-I-know-what-I-want— _Jeonghan._ It had to be love after that.

Regardless, Choi Seungcheol has thanked the Heavens for bringing Yoon Jeonghan into his life, his world, his orbit. Even more so now that their son was tragically and unfairly ripped from their arms, Seungcheol will not let go of his husband. He will fight whoever he has to if it means keeping the man by his side.

“Look at me, love.” Seungcheol quietly requests into the silent room. Since Wonwoo had left and Shua had dropped Jeonghan off, the home has been void of sound. Both parties were afraid to break the silence, unsure where either stood. A lot had occurred in the past twenty-four hours, in the past seven days.

Jeonghan snaps his gaze from the coffee mug, the scrawling font of _I love you a latte_ burned into his eyes. He remembers Seungcheol bringing it home some months ago—giggling as he handed it to Jeonghan. Seungcheol was notorious for stopping by stores, usually getting caught up in the underground mall where his company building resides overhead. He would slip into their lively home, armed with some sort of gift for Jeonghan (and in the last two months, Chan). The man always accepted the presents with gratitude—a charming, all-knowing grin. This was just a part of Seungcheol’s personality he had learned over the years, even going as far back as buying Jeonghan banana milk and bungeoppang in middle school. It was endearing and overtly caring and beautiful.

Seungcheol licks his lips, nervous, _he shouldn’t be nervous this is his husband!_ , “I’m not mad at you.” And that surprises Jeonghan. He deserves to be yelled at but Seungcheol won’t. He knows that. It feels wrong.

“Hurt? Yes. Mad? No.” _Is that any better?_ No, it’s worse. He hurt the man he loves the most and that hurts him. It _kills_ him. All Jeonghan can imagine is the way Seungcheol’s face had contorted in pain—fallen in disbelief—at the accusations viciously thrown his way. It plays when the video memory of Chan’s death momentarily stops. His brain is exhausted. _When will it end?_ He wants his life back. The happy couple of Jeonghan and Seungcheol with their cute little son, Chan.

Jeonghan’s hands shake, “I’m—I’m sorry. _So_ sorry. I was wrong. And stupid and it was terrible of me to do. I don’t even know why I said those things. I never blamed you, not really, I blamed myself.”

That comes as a shock to Seungcheol because why would Jeonghan blame himself? He voices such confusion. Jeonghan laughs an emotionless laugh, tired of his treacherous thinking, he knows his logic doesn’t make sense, “I—I just was so angry at myself for not giving the life to Chan that he deserved. I had dreamed of all the things we would do—the places we would see. I had trips and memories planned. Channie’s first years weren’t the best, but I was going to make sure his rest were. And then that was only two months. . . I felt like I failed him. I felt like my heart was going to explode and I took it out on you because—because I don’t know.” Words are lost to him. He shakes his head, brushing the rushing tears.

“Hannie—” Jeonghan breaks at the tenderness in Seungcheol’s voice, a choked sob ripping through his throat, “I—I don’t—don’t _deserve_ you.” Then the space between them is too much that Seungcheol is hurrying to gather Jeonghan into his arms, cradling the blonde’s messy locks to his chest. “Don’t say that, Hannie. Please, never say that. It’s not true.”

“It is _!_ ” Jeonghan insists, tearing himself away from the warmth that his husband carries, the comfort he so desperately wants to fall into, “Cheollie, how could I do something so _disgusting_ and you still care about me?”

Seungcheol takes a long look at his beautiful spouse, reaching out with trembling fingers to brush a piece of Jeonghan’s overgrown bangs back behind his ear. He sends a watery smile, “Because I love you. Because I knew deep down inside, you didn’t mean what you said.”

Jeonghan can’t hide the skepticism in his tone, “Did you really know? It didn’t seem like it.” Seungcheol sighs, always caught in his white lies, “I held onto hope. I’m not going to deny, Hannie, it hurt like _hell_. It felt like I was being abandoned by the one person I thought would be by my side through it all. Because if that person thought that, it had to mean that it was true. I didn’t want to believe it. . .but—but maybe I did. That night. Before you called.” The silence is deafening. The truth is out.

“I never would have—never would have done—that. No, _no_. It never crossed my mind. To be honest, the only thing I could think about is how I was going to convince you to come back to me. I was going to go to Josh’s—I was going to knock on the door until you answered and then—” Seungcheol is interrupted by Jeonghan lunging over to hug him once more. He catches the man, a huff escaping at his surprise.

“I’m here and I’m never leaving again.” Jeonghan’s words are final and send relief through Seungcheol. He didn’t even realize he was holding his breathe this whole time until the weight on his shoulders evaporated. It was like he could see clearly now—the dreary fog vanishing.

“I don’t want you to forgive me that easily though. It wouldn’t be right. I need to be held accountable.” Jeonghan glances back up into Seungcheol’s warm eyes, a glint of emotion that Jeonghan knows comes from a place of love. Seungcheol wore his heart on his sleeve, and Jeonghan was exceptionally good at reading the man’s every thoughts and feelings. Maybe that’s what fueled his misplaced grief-stricken rant the night they came home from the hospital with the news that their son had died—the fact that Jeonghan could see that his words were hurting Seungcheol. Even now, when his suffering was not clouding his judgement, Jeonghan does not understand why he treated Seungcheol the way that he did. Those venomous words came from a dark, deep hole of evil and revenge. Instead of facing the truth that Chan had been accidentally killed, Jeonghan armored himself for battle—ready to slay anyone who could have possibly been the cause for such an unexpected outcome.

It tickles him, actually. Months later, when the pain has simmered a little, when Jeonghan can think about Chan without wanting to sob for hours on end, he will still wonder why he never directed his anger on the incapacitated soccer mom who plunged over his son. The woman, who had a few too many glasses of wine before heading to pick her _own_ son up from tennis practice, had been charged with vehicular manslaughter and had her license suspended. Seungcheol and Jeonghan had received compensation but that was in vain. A monetary amount did nothing to mend the hole in their hearts, and it surely did not bring their son back to life.

There had to be a reason, _right?_ A reason, an explanation, a plan, for why their innocent little Chan had to be taken from them. If Jeonghan really thinks, he comes back to that wine-addicted _Chevy Tahoe_ driver. Married to a husband who was always away at work, forced to quit her job to become a stay-at-home-mom, struggling to raise four kids under the age of ten by herself, overwhelmed with never getting a say in her life—yeah, something needed to be done to save her. But she chose to down three glasses of wine before getting behind the wheel. Who decided that Jeonghan’s son would be the sacrificial lamb in this woman’s intervention episode?

Then Jeonghan thinks about those four kids—some in upper level elementary and facing bullying from their peers because their mother _killed_ a child. Parents’ mistakes should never reflect upon their children, but nobody actually practices what they preach. He thinks about how it was not just Seungcheol and Jeonghan who had lost a child—those four now have to grapple with the fact that their mother took a life. That’s not something that’s easy to stare down and work through. At the end of the day, her sons and daughters might never want to include her in their lives. They might never love her again.

That keeps Jeonghan up at night. He could not imagine having one of his kids not love him back. That mother had been doing all she could to make sure her children had the best education, indulged in every opportunity for socialization, broke her back to chauffer every child to their respective activities, spent most of her time in a parking lot or waiting area, brain bursting with four different schedules, all for her to make one bad decision and have them turn their backs on her.

Jeonghan can’t help but find himself sympathizing with the woman who ran his son over. It feels wrong—especially after he hurled the blame on his husband who simply overshot a soccer ball into the street, not fast enough to get Chan back onto the green yard before that damn _Chevy Tahoe_ came blasting through. She’ll have that on her conscious for the rest of her life and Seungcheol will always internally blame himself for letting his son wander into the street. _Had I just kicked the ball softer. Had I just yelled for Chan to stay away from the street._

It is wishful thinking that gets them nowhere.

“I already forgive you, though. You’ve already made it clear to me that you’re sorry.” Seungcheol breathes in Jeonghan’s vanilla shampoo, thanking his stars the man he loves the most is back in his awaiting arms. He never wants to let go—the fragility of life thrown in his face has made that abundantly obvious. So, he doesn’t. He holds Jeonghan until the sun bids farewell for the day, until the moon greets them through the living room window.

Later that night, Seungcheol and Jeonghan head towards their bedroom—the one that has not seen them together for more than a week, cold sheets looking sad and empty. They have more to talk about, more to discuss, more to forgive, and more to learn. But, for now, the couple get ready for bed together—never straying farther than a hands width away. Seungcheol doesn’t want to let go, and neither does Jeonghan.

They climb into their king-sized bed and into their respective sides—Seungcheol on the left and Jeonghan on the right. Somewhere in the night, Seungcheol will migrate over to Jeonghan’s side and Jeonghan will hog the blankets—waking up to his husband drooling on his arm and half the comforter pooling over the edge of the bed. But Jeonghan doesn’t mind. He wants that familiarity back. He wants to rush into old habits—the part of life where you know even the tiniest things about the person you love that most other people don’t. Like how Seungcheol has to wet the bristles first and then after the toothpaste is applied before he even thinks about sticking his toothbrush in his mouth. Or how he never towels off after a shower—just immediately gets dressed. He can’t eat plain rice, always needing a soup or kimchi to pair. He downs alcohol like it’s water. Jeonghan can still remember all the late nights when they had competitions to see who would get drunk first in college. . .or high school but don’t tell their moms. He loves golf and, even if Jeonghan doesn’t understand the game, he listens intently to the many animated conversations that Seungcheol has with him because the way his face lights up with excitement is like a little kid. Jeonghan isn’t surprised anymore when he is woken up by Seungcheol in the wee hours of Saturday morning, puppy dog eyes pleading for him to play _KartRider_ together.

It is the little things that make Jeonghan swoon for Choi Seungcheol—the things that he has apparently taken for granted.

Jeonghan doesn’t wait for Seungcheol to cross the middle of the bed this time. He wiggles over until he is pressed up against Seungcheol’s toned abdomen, resting his head on the other’s chest. Jeonghan hears his husband’s heartbeat, a gentle _thump badump thump badump_ that is equal parts relieving and relaxing.

“I’m so glad you’re back in my arms.” Seungcheol whispers over the delicate atmosphere, carding his fingers through the younger’s hair. Seungcheol has always had something for his lover’s hair, even being the one to suggest he grow it out in high school. Jeonghan cranes his neck to look into Seungcheol’s doe-eyes. There’s a vulnerability shining through that makes the man want to stay in this position for the rest of his life. Even after everything, Seungcheol can’t help but hold a level of trust for Jeonghan. He loves him. He really does. That means that life won’t always be sunshine and rainbows—there will inevitably be bumps and potholes in the road. Sometimes, it just jostles your car and other times it pops your tire off. Jeonghan and Seungcheol hit a rough, bad patch in the road. But their car is still intact and nothing a little time and effort can’t fix if they are willing to try.

And they are.

“Me too. It feels like home.” Jeonghan hums, before finally connecting their lips in a tender kiss. It has been more than a week since they last shared this type of intimacy. It was a drastic difference to their normal routine of constant touch and affection. But this kiss feels like the first all over again. It has sparks and butterflies and so much _love_.

After a few more light kisses, the couple settle down. They are both exhausted and need a good rest. Last night, Jeonghan had been able to grab a few hours of sleep cuddled up with Joshua, but he was still consumed by his desire for Seungcheol, the desire to make everything right. Or at least apologize. He is beyond grateful for a husband so understanding and forgiving—full of mercy and kindness.

Now, he’s back where he belongs without the weight of the world on his shoulders. What was once shattered is now slowly mending back together. Maybe not exactly like before, that seems impossible, but in a way that is still recognizable. It is enough to send a ripple of melatonin through his system, beckoning him to finally close his eyes.

“I love you.” Jeonghan breathes out the sleepy sentence. He doesn’t have to wait for a reply because it comes seconds later. _Always._ Content and wrapped close to Seungcheol, Jeonghan finds himself wandering off to dreamland without the terrorizing nightmares he’s become so accustomed to in the past week. It isn’t until the morning that he realizes the constant cycle of Chan’s death has stopped plaguing his mind. He no longer sees the scene every time he shuts his eyes and every waking minute.

Chan’s absence continues to hurt like nothing he’s ever experienced before, but it feels as though the process of healing can finally start now that he has Seungcheol by his side. That’s where Jeonghan messed up. Instead of grieving with Seungcheol, he sent the man away. But Jeonghan can’t do this without his husband, without that support. It is a start, a new beginning.

Only the morning will tell them how the next step goes.

—

It is a beautiful day.

The sun had finally decided to peek its way out from the picture-perfect clouds, shining its light down upon the couple. There was a nice breeze that ruffled here and there—a reprieve from the heat that clung to the air. Yet, it was not too hot nor too cold. The day was a welcoming for the Spring season that was not too far away. The last of the snow had long melted and the greenery had started to come to life. Flowers had begun to bloom, and a few bees buzzed to and fro. Overall, it was a calm, peaceful afternoon for Choi Seungcheol and Yoon Jeonghan to embark on the final step in their journey.

Hand in hand, the men made their way through the park, enjoying the serenity of nature. Not many words were shared between the two, but it was a comfortable silence that both appreciated. Had it been a couple of months ago, Jeonghan would have hated the absence of noise. The quiet meant he had nothing where chaos once ran. It felt empty and harrowing—leading Jeonghan to spiral in his thoughts.

His therapist, Minki, says that’s when he gets caught up in his mind. That’s when he begins to act like he did that week following Chan’s death. Jeonghan had been so guilty afterwards that he tended to neglect his own body and mind. Seungcheol had to almost force-feed him with promises that he was forgiven and everything was okay. But it hadn’t felt okay. It felt far from it. Jeonghan and Minki have been working on his reluctance to forgive himself—least of all accept Seungcheol’s. It was an arduous process, but Jeonghan had finally come to the point where he was beginning to believe maybe he could be forgiven.

Of course, there were good days and bad days—days when he shut down and days when he let Seungcheol in. It’s a mystery to why Seungcheol stays by his side even throughout it all. Like an unmoving rock or boulder. He is always there for Jeonghan to lean on and sometimes that manifests itself in the form of Seungcheol holding Jeonghan as he screams into oblivion, frustrated with the world, tears unstoppable at three in the morning. Other times, it is simply just Seungcheol being there with him as he opens Chan’s bedroom door for the first time on Chan’s sixth birthday, runs his fingers down the made bed, laying the clean yellow baby blanket down next to the otter plushie that Jeonghan had hand-picked after the couple had chosen Chan to adopt. He hugs the otter close to his chest, reminiscing of the bright smile that was his little Channie.

“ _It looks jus’ like me, Appa! **”**_

Seungcheol is there. He rubs Jeonghan’s shoulders, intertwines their fingers, brushes comforting kisses to his forehead. He’s everything that Jeonghan is sure he doesn’t deserve. It’s funny to him that he never really felt that way until after Chan had passed away. Jeonghan never had these feelings regarding his and Seungcheol’s relationship. Maybe that’s why it hurts so much because he can think back on ten years of friendship and start seeing how good Seungcheol is and how much Jeonghan has always been the problem. Seungcheol had a perfect school record before meeting Jeonghan, and then within the same week of having the young boy thrusted into his life they already had a date in Saturday detention. Jeonghan had caused a rift between Seungcheol and his parents—because their son fell in love with _him_ and not some girl. The only time that Seungcheol ever missed a class in college was when Jeonghan got alcohol poisoning after drinking the entire night with Seokmin because he flunked a test. Seungcheol had been an angel—taking care of both of them—and missed his eight A.M. lecture. He’s so thoughtful and caring and kind and Jeonghan is rebellious and petty and troublesome. He’s definitely a bad influence—he remembers those exact words his mother-in-law had uttered when she told them there was no way in hell that she was attending their wedding or accepting their marriage.

“ _I always knew you were a bad influence on my son the moment you snaked your way into his life all those years ago. A trouble child who knows no respect! Seungcheol never once questioned us before you came and messed with his mind. Skipping academy, arguing, talking back, missing family dinner, worshipping the devil! You,_ ” And she had pointed her perfectly manicured finger straight into Jeonghan’s face with such a look of pure evil and hatred settled in her features, “ _You little bitch, you did this! You corrupted my son, you worthless heathen. I will never accept you, will never let you into this family!_ ” Jeonghan had cried at those words, silent tears escaping from his eyes without any thought to not show any weakness in front of her, not let her under his skin or hurt him. But this was his mother-in-law and her opinion mattered to Jeonghan no matter how awful she had shown she could be. Seungcheol had stood up for him, replying back in a cool and collected voice that in no way would her words be acceptable or tolerated. He explained to his mother for the last time that he loved Jeonghan more than anything and anyone—that he was going to spend the rest of his life with Jeonghan with or without her approval. She didn’t have to go to the wedding and she surely didn’t need to be in their lives. Jeonghan was not the problem, it was wicked hearts like hers that were. He had grabbed Jeonghan’s hand, interlocking their fingers together before bidding goodbye to his mother and father. He hadn’t spoke to his parents for a while after that. His mother had sent a text saying she wanted to meet her first grandchild but Seungcheol had ignored her. It didn’t feel right to subject his son or his husband to his mother’s inappropriate behavior and negative energy. He had heard from his older brother and it looked like nothing about his mother had changed in the years they had not contacted one another. It was extremely hard for Seungcheol, to not receive acceptance by the woman he had loved unconditionally since he was born. But he would choose Jeonghan over his own mother any day. Jeonghan didn’t try to hold him back—Jeonghan loved him for _him_. His mother didn’t. She always wanted the perfect child, the perfect son. Ever since he was a young boy, he was groomed to be the smartest, the best, anything less was failure. It ruined Seungcheol’s self-esteem as a teenager. The only thing that made it bearable when he was at school was Jeonghan and his friends.

Seungcheol had, of course, debunked those thoughts when Jeonghan unconsciously found himself voicing such concerns. “ _Love, you do deserve me, I promise you. My relationship with my mother is not your fault. I could have brought home any man and she would have felt and said the exact same things. Sweetie, she’s homophobic—plain and simple. That’s why she hates you. It’s fucked up but has nothing to do with your character. And I chose to take care of you and Seokmin because I wanted to. I love you, baby, I really do believe that you made me a better man. You made me think about who I wanted to be and break out of the box that everyone else had forced me in. I thank you, Hannie, for that. I really do. So, enough of those nonsense claims. Come here._ ” And then Seungcheol had kissed all those worries away. But it was harder than it seemed to continue to believe those words. Jeonghan couldn’t help himself.

But Minki says that he’s always had these insecurities, even if he didn’t realize it until after Chan’s death. It’ll take time, that’s what Minki tells him after each session. Sometimes, Seungcheol goes to therapy with him. They sit side by side in the comforting office, on that black leather couch, and Seungcheol holds his hand, rubs his calloused thumb along Jeonghan’s milky skin. He was nervous at first, Jeonghan that is. For Seungcheol to see him so vulnerable. Jeonghan was never like that as a child. He was headstrong and opinionated and always stood up for what he believed in. It didn’t matter to him if he would end up having to clean the chalkboard or visit the principal’s office every other day. He’d face down any bully with a smirk on his angelic features—remembers scaring those three boys who thought it would be funny to mock Jihoon for his height shitless because no one would get away with something like that on his watch.

It had been difficult after that dinner with Seungcheol’s mother. He had cursed himself for appearing so weak and fragile. He was forever grateful for Seungcheol standing up for him but that’s not usually how the dynamic worked. Jeonghan was the protector, the one who stood at the front of the pack and stared down all their enemies. Jeonghan had a thick skin and wore it with pride. Most words just bounced off of him like they were never uttered to begin with. He didn’t care what people thought of him—he was who he was and if you didn’t like that, well, too bad. Because Jeonghan wasn’t changing.

But Jeonghan had taken his mother-in-law’s words to heart. It was the first time that he was patronized for his sexuality. He didn’t flaunt it, necessarily, so most people did not know. He didn’t come out until he was in his sophomore year of high school. His parents had taken it with stride, telling them how much they loved him and were proud of him. They didn’t even make a big deal about it, just let him know that he was safe with them. His sister had always known, at least that’s what she said to him when he confessed a few weeks prior to telling his parents. “ _I could just tell from the way that you looked at your friend. It wasn’t a platonic look, Jeonghan._ ” And that had been news to him. Was his complete and utter love for Seungcheol so obvious? Ask anyone who knew them and they would say yes, definitely. In fact, when they told their friends that they were dating, Mingyu had laughed and said _about time, hyungs!_

His friends accepted him, his parents, his younger sister—but Seungcheol’s family? _His_ future family? Not so much. It had torn Seungcheol apart, Jeonghan could tell, even though he hid those feelings from Jeonghan. He was essentially written out of the will and all family ties were cut besides his younger brother. All because Seungcheol loved a man. Seungcheol had cried about it once, only once, one day about a month before their scheduled wedding in the States. He had had one of his wisdom teeth taken out and had gushed to the nurses about how he was getting married soon. Jeonghan had been by his side the whole time, laughing and cooing about how cute his fiancé could be. He had slurred through all the details, even going as far as to list all the guests coming like their friends and Jeonghan’s mom and dad and younger sister and then he came to the realization that his parents wouldn’t be there. He had stopped for a second, face crestfallen, the first time since he came out of surgery that he wasn’t talking loudly through the aftereffects of his anesthesia. Then he had started tearing up, streaks of emotion trickling down his puffy face with the reddened gauze stuffed into mouth threatening to fall out as he openly began sobbing.

“ _Hannie, the’re not comin’. Ab’ji an’ eom’ni. They mus’ not love me then._ ” It had broken Jeonghan’s heart as he hugged his brave boy who had finally cracked. Seungcheol had told Jeonghan repeatedly that he was fine about his parents not attending, but Jeonghan never quite believed him. Now, his true feelings had been exposed and Jeonghan wished it weren’t because he was high on laughing gas. Although this no longer was a laughing manner.

Jeonghan had confronted Seungcheol about it when he was sober once more, back to himself, gently telling him what had happened. Seungcheol had sighed and then spilled. “ _I thought I could kid myself, but damn does it hurt. It hurts really bad, Hannie. It always seemed like a given that my parents, god forbid they pass beforehand, would be at my wedding. That they would love my spouse like their own. That Eomeoni would dance with me and Abeoji might even tear up because his son was a man now or some shit. I don’t know. I saw it with my older brother when he married Jin-ah. They were happy. I always thought that’ll be me too when it was my time. But I didn’t choose to fall in love with you, Han. It happened slowly without me even knowing it. And I never thought it would matter that you were a man._

 _I thought my parents were better than that. I remember my mother looking at me with disgust when I told her about us in high school. She brushed it off, said I was just in some phase. She really thought I could ever get over you._ ” Seungcheol had laughed at that, voice thick with unshed emotion. “ _I’ll get over it, I promise, we’ll have the best wedding. It’ll be fun and beautiful because that’s what we deserve. Do I wish that my parents would be there, hell yeah, but they would just make it miserable. I’m not ashamed that I love you. I’m not sorry that I love a man. I’m not going to let anyone tell me that I should either._ ”

Seungcheol and Jeonghan’s wedding had been just that—beautiful and fun. And by the time it was all said and done, Seungcheol realized he didn’t even notice the two missing people. It had been a day of rejoice and joy. Sure, their marriage wasn’t recognized in their home country, but that didn’t matter to them as much as they previously thought. They were at the very least legally married in the United States and that was enough because someone saw them as valid. They got that experience that all the straight couples took for granted. They got to party and kiss and dress-up and dance and eat cake! And they got to dedicate the rest of their lives to each other. Maybe one day, they would be able to renew their vows in Korea, would be able to walk around and not be stared at with malice when they held hands on the street, would not be questioned when someone noticed their matching wedding rings. Far too often had those meaningful, precious rings of metal been reduced to _friendship_ rings. Jeonghan would hold back from rolling his eyes and would politely correct the assumption, “ _It’s a wedding ring. We’re married._ ” _Dumbass_. Alas, that was a battle for another day. For now, they were content.

The couple stopped at a bench. It sat parallel to the Han River’s edge and gave way for a gorgeous view. It was nearing 4 P.M. Seungcheol had taken the day off, and Jeonghan had yet to return to work. Being surrounded by children—he wasn’t ready. He wasn’t sure he ever would be. Not having a job, a purpose, it was harder on his depression. He felt useless most of the time. Seungcheol was their sole provider and it felt like he was just leeching off of his husband. But Seungcheol shot that down too.

 _Healing takes time_ , Minki’s voice rings through his mind and Jeonghan almost wants to scoff. It’s taking too damn long! Jeonghan had told Minki about his reservations about returning to work at the preschool. His therapist had said he could maybe ease back into to—give it a try—or maybe he should look for a different career. Jeonghan had been less than pleased with that. He wanted to return to work, he didn’t want to possess a degree he couldn’t use anymore. It felt crazy to him that he was even grappling with something so simple. Seungcheol didn’t seem to be struggling as much as he was, and it was discouraging. Seungcheol had seen his own therapist, one of Minki’s colleagues, for a few weeks before it appeared he didn’t need the weekly appointments anymore. But Jeonghan saw Minki every Wednesday at one-thirty, had been since two weeks after Chan’s death. Minki had told him it wasn’t a competition and that Seungcheol’s progress shouldn’t be compared to his own. Grief hits everyone differently and just because it looked like Seungcheol was better didn’t mean that he wasn’t hurting. Jeonghan had felt childish after having those thoughts.

It was a goal they had in their sessions—getting Jeonghan back to work. He had been told by his boss that his position was open whenever he was ready. They always needed an extra hand somewhere. Jeonghan had thanked the man profusely, assuring him he would return soon. But soon had turned into weeks and then a month and Jeonghan was tired of having to explain to his supervisor that he wasn’t ready yet. He knew he was being annoying, and sometimes he even thought he was taking advantage of his boss’s generosity and leniency. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to work—he does. But the thought of having to take care of someone else’s child and then come back to an empty, childless home himself made his heart ache excruciatingly so. He missed Chan and taking care of Chan. He missed having a purpose. Because he knows if he did go back to work, every single time he saw one of the children, he’d imagine all the possibilities that never happened for Chan. Chan wouldn’t get to make Valentine’s day cards or draw a self-portrait. He wouldn’t get to participate in story time or play with the Lego sets. He wouldn’t learn the ABCs or socialize with his friends. He wouldn’t even get to make mistakes and argue over the green paint with another student. He wouldn’t get to do any of it. But everyone else there would. That’s what’s stopping Jeonghan from being an adult and returning to his responsibilities.

Minki says he will get there in time. _Always in time._ Jeonghan is beginning to hate the concept of time. He tries to not think about how he’s known Chan dead longer than he has alive—it’s already been three months since he flew away on butterfly wings.

Jeonghan squeezes Seungcheol’s hand, glancing over to send him a warm grin. He loves the way that his husband’s eyes sparkle in the April sun. It’s so relaxing to have Seungcheol by his side for this. They both decided it was time to say goodbye to Chan—together. It was something they lacked to do when Chan first died. Jeonghan had almost refused to grieve, filled with anger and resentment. Seungcheol was withdrawn and overwhelmed, on the receiving end of Jeonghan’s outbursts. But then they reconciled and learned from their mistakes. They sought out professional help—even scheduled an appointment with a marriage counselor. Which honestly took a while to find someone who would even see them as they technically weren’t married in Korea.

The prospect of saying goodbye to Chan had angered Jeonghan at first. Why would he want to say goodbye to his child _?_ Why was that a good idea? It felt like if he did that he would be forgetting about Chan—writing him off. He lashed out on Minki _and_ Seungcheol as it had been proposed during a dual session. Minki described it not as forgetting Chan but letting him go. Saying goodbye would let him heal.

Jeonghan had thought that over for weeks. He tossed and turned during his restless nights, sometimes just standing on the porch outside in the cool night staring up at the stars hoping to find the one that held his son. It had to be the brightest one—his Channie was always so bright and cheerful and energetic and beautiful and—and then it felt like he was back to zero again. Back to endlessly missing Chan and hating the world. But he didn’t want to hate this world, and he didn’t want to hate his life. He had so much to live for—Seungcheol had shown him that.

Maybe he did need to say goodbye. Maybe it would be better to let Chan go, so he could move on. Not move on like leave Chan behind. _Never_. But move on and enjoy the rest of his years. He needed to _heal_. Just like when he got into an accident on his bicycle when he was thirteen, the handlebar piercing his abdomen, he had healed. It took a couple of weeks, but soon all that was left of the gruesome event was a scar. A scar that ran down the side of his stomach, a few inches long, reminding him every time he saw it in the mirror of what had happened. He remembers his carelessness and how Seungcheol had taken care of him for those weeks he recovered. He even recalls milking his pain to get Seungcheol to buy him ice cream and cook him ramen and maybe he convinced Cheollie to do his math homework but that was a secret he would take to his grave.

But the scar didn’t hurt anymore. It had been a painful experience, but now only the memories were left and it didn’t hurt anymore.

Jeonghan had eventually agreed, telling Seungcheol that he was ready to say goodbye. He was ready to heal and form a scar and keep his memories but make new ones too. He was finally ready, and it felt great, exuberating.

So, here they were. At a park they frequented with Chan. It was a beautiful day. It was 4 P.M. on a Monday afternoon. And Jeonghan was ready.

He stood on shaky legs, taking Seungcheol with him through their connected hands. They walked towards the water’s edge, and Jeonghan found purchase on the railing with his left hand. It was quiet between the couple as they both closed their eyes. Jeonghan imagines his son who would have been six years old by now. He thinks about Chan’s cherub cheeks and almond eyes and his adorable little nose. He imagines reaching out and hugging Chan, hearing the peal of laughter from the boy when he starts mercilessly tickling him. Then, he envisions crouching down and holding Chan’s hands in his own much larger ones. He looks into Chan’s eyes and fixes his hair.

_Channie, wherever you are, I want you to know that I love you. I want you to know that I will always miss you. This may be goodbye for now, but it won’t be goodbye forever. When my time is up, I’ll find you. I’ll search the galaxies, and we’ll spend eternity together. Thank you for being my first baby. Thank you for making me a father and bringing me so much happiness. Being your Appa has been my greatest privilege. While I wish we had a longer time together, I will treasure what we did have for the rest of my life. I will never forget you or stop loving you._

And it gets harder and harder as he goes on because it feels like he has to let go of Chan soon but he’s not ready. Chan keeps smiling at him, affectious and undisturbed. He reaches out and strokes Chan’s cheek tenderly. A tear slips down.

_I’m sorry for everything. For letting you down. For things that are out of my control. I’m just sorry life wasn’t fair to you. I love you more than anything, and I hope you have so much fun where you are. Be a good boy and wait for Appa and Daddy, hmm?_

He doesn’t receive a response, but it’s okay. And then Chan is giggling and running off somewhere and Jeonghan realizes he’s let him go. He stopped anchoring Chan down—he let him go. He’s no longer holding on for dear life. It feels. . . _liberating_. He never expected to feel this way but, god, does it feel good.

He opens his eyes, wipes the stray tears on his face. He turns to look at Seungcheol and all he sees is love. It’s so warm, and he dives into it. Seungcheol brings him in for a hug and Jeonghan goes with the motion. He sinks into the comfort, “I let him go, Cheollie. I—I really let him go.” His husband runs his hand down his back, but there’s not tension there like there normally is.

“I did too.” He whispers back, pressing a chaste kiss to Jeonghan’s lips, “I’m so proud of you, Hannie.”

And Jeonghan is proud of himself as well. He can’t wait to tell Minki in their next session. This feels like real progress. Of course, everything won’t magically be alright now. That would be preposterous and absurd. Impossible even. But it is leaps into the right direction. It’s great news.

“Let’s go home.” He murmurs to Seungcheol, sleepy smile on full display. Seungcheol kisses him once more and he had forgot how it tasted to kiss someone when they are smiling but he loves that he remembers now. A glimpse of the old Hannie is before him. The man he fell in love with when they were mere adolescents. Jeonghan had gone through so many changes during the past months, but Seungcheol still loves the man. He loves him even more, in fact. They’ve seen the darkest of darks, the lowest of lows, and Seungcheol wouldn’t have wanted to do that with just anybody. It was hard and damn near almost broke his heart, but he still gets to hold Yoon Jeonghan’s hand—kiss Yoon Jeonghan goodnight.

Out of the corner of Jeonghan’s eye, he notices a butterfly. He points it out in earnest to Seungcheol who awes at the beauty of it. Oranges and yellows sprouted throughout the creature’s wings, black outlines making it unique. He watches intently as the butterfly flaps its fragile wings, glinting in the residual sunlight. Then without any warning, the butterfly is off—flying in a swirl through the blue sky. Its destination is unknown, but it flies with purpose—heart sending it wherever it pleases. It’s like it’s a sign that only Jeonghan would get.

“Yeah, baby, let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to comment your thoughts and feedback. I'm going to work on This is Home chapter nine now that this monster is finished. I needed a long break from TIH because it was stressing me out. But I recently reread it and wanted to create more so be on the look out. I am in college though, so I really only write on the weekends when I have time :( Thanks!!! <3


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